


Anger Management

by Kat_Arva



Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fixing things, Modern AU, Relationship Study, as the main one, lots of AUs in one place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-27 21:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13889091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Arva/pseuds/Kat_Arva
Summary: She trembled alright. Just not for the reason everyone else did. Or a thousand and one way to make 16th century mindset suck less.





	1. trembling

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [First Impressions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802923) by [boleynqueens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boleynqueens/pseuds/boleynqueens). 



> This is a series of one-shots that will include AUs as well as interpretations of some Henry/Anne aspects. Second half will always be a snippet of their modern story.
> 
> There are mistakes in the text as I am struggling with typos and articles. If you see one and want to help - PM/point it in review so I can make it right. (I am not looking for beta, by the way.)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long ago...

They said his presence was sun. Without him your life plunged into eternal night. You could love him from afar, they whispered, and get warm from his shine. Could step forward and be blinded. Touch him and burn.

She did.

Oh, but what a fire it was.

Yes, she loved their quiet moments. The comfort his arms brought, the warmth of his skin under her cheek, his steady breathing and calming murmur. His almost shy eyes when he was uncertain of her response. He could be lovesick or attentive, stroke her hair and look at her like she was the most precious thing in his world. And she felt loved and cherished and utterly mesmerized by the tenderness in his eyes. But there was more to him, and for better or worse, she loved him whole.

It would be easy to pretend that she fell for Henry that wrote her letters full of adoration and devotion, who carefully compelled words together to please her and express his heart's desires… but how could she when even through most gentle endearments his impatience to possess, to swallow her whole was unmistakable. When through ink-drawn lines she sensed controlled fire.

And possibility of untaming it excited her.

She'd like to say that she hadn't seen the gleam of insanity in those blue orbs (by the way, his eyes were the stuff poetry is made of). That when rage transformed Henry's face into the mask of a beast she was frightened. That when hate and anger rolled off him she wanted to cower. That at the sight of him she along with other courtiers feared for her position and when his voice boomed she trembled...

I am the King of England! – his favorite thing to shout. It was self-explanatory and gave reasons for his just rage. Because can there be an unjust rage of a monarch? – the one who answered only to God – she as one of people who made sure he was aware of that, knew the answer.

…In those moments his figure was fear-inspiring and she trembled alright. Just not for the reason everyone else did.

So, their screaming matches?

She would call him 'Majesty' and he would hiss 'Madam', then they would say (scream) what they thought about each other. Their breathing would get labored with skin flushed and as his sight lowered to her breasts his gaze turned lusty. She lost the thought of why she was so angry with him (because even if he was the instigator being cowed and humbled in response wasn't usually an option). There appeared a coil in her belly that she long ago came to associate with her lord and king, tightening with every breath. Wetness between her tights pulsed with the tempo of heartbeat... It was no fault of hers that he was making her swoon with desire. In his eyes was everything: want to hold his hands around her neck and squeeze until there was nothing but his victory, take her so hard the walls would shake, bury himself so deep that her screams would make his courtesans shiver. He was the sin before sin and avenging angel at once: larger than life, powerful, scalding hot, and capable of taking her whole… possessing her swallowing… all of her. Just her.

Did he know? Of course he knew. Because as masochistic was she so vain was her King. It would be a lie to tell that her arousal didn't turn him on.

So their fights never lasted long – either he stormed off or they came too close and, you must know what it means.

Maybe in retrospect it was better to happen in more secluded areas. And not as loud. And maybe not so often.

But they could not control every servant's tongue (or themselves). Anyway, rumors about witchcraft and serving the Devil would have found way after some time – for no proper wife would behave so shamelessly with her lord husband. Nor would they go at it for hours. Certainly not scream for more while the whole palace could hear. No God fearing English woman should find her marital duties so pleasurable, after all. (That might be but she considered herself more French than English. And Frenchmen had entirely different notion of a good Christian woman.)

So maybe theirs wasn't the healthiest or natural of relationships. Maybe with every little fight and shout and moan they destructed something within each other. Maybe with every hiss and thrust and roll there was less love and more hate. But she could not tell and the fire most certainly never went out.

So he was the sun and he burned. But he burned so good.

_Some almost five hundred years later..._

Anne doesn't know why she pauses outside of her car on the parking lot. Because really two drivers arguing about who did not let whom out was not a seldom occurrence. Especially on this parking with a really stupid layout. Nothing worth a second thought.

Except one of them is tall and very well built (a shirt hides nothing of his broad shoulders, his slacks outline very well shaped long legs, his body screams health and fitness) and he is furious. She can't see his face fully, but his jawline is pronounced, muscles of his neck tremble with tension, fist clenched – his figure emanating power and rage.

And God, isn't he hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based most of my ideas on Tudors. Although there when they argued Anne found herself on the verge of tears more often than not, in my head she reacts a bit... differently. Then, apparently for most of his life Henry VIII was the definition of fitness and hotness, and he'll stay just that.
> 
> Your thoughts?


	2. as you share dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a dream...

"What's your name?"

"Anne Boleyn," She adds 'Your Majesty' almost as an afterthought and though the hot whisper strokes his ego just right he halts them and presses her firmly into the wall (he doesn't question where it came from in the center of a ballroom, it is only a dream after all). His kiss is punishing and begging at the same time.

"It's Henry".

"Henry..." she moans and he couldn't be more pleased with the sound.

 

The kisses are sweet as nothing they ever tasted, bodies warm and utterly perfect arched and pressed into each other. They are both fully clothed yet the air is wonderfully warm and they are almost dizzy with hope and happiness.

"Let me find you, my love," it is perfect in this place in between time and reality but he wants out. She _needs_ to be there when he wakes up.

Come morning, they don't remember faces.

 

He asks Wolsey about the Boleyns (the king is half afraid he made the name up). There is indeed a Thomas Boleyn, serving as an envoy to France. He has children - a daughter and a son who came to court not long ago. He doesn't listen past the word 'daughter'.

 

Anne believes in dreams. She can't just disregard the feeling of happiness and belonging she gets in the arms of her handsome stranger. But the blue of his eyes haunts her and the name Henry coped with 'Majesty' leaves her pale and trembling.

There haven't been a Henry on English throne for more than a decade.

 

Mary is sweet, likable and in her eyes there is a honest admiration. Yet her skin is the wrong colour smile is not crooked and hair is not dark enough.

"Do you have a sister?" She is visibly shaken by his question but dares not to ignore king's inquire. Her careful nod precedes a faraway look. She is crying.

"I had. A younger one. Anne... She... died before her tenth birthday."

 

Their embrace is tender, her head on his chest, finger intertwined, listening to his heartbeat.

"Sweetheart..." he forgets what he wants to say looking at her. She smiles up sleepy and happy, lies her head back with a content sight.

 

Prince of Wales falls ill in spring, yet it is ten year old Duke of York who dies unexpectedly of a high fever. Arthur succeeds his father and his reign is a rich and peaceful one.

 

"Anne" he tries again. There is something heartbreaking written in the bow of her brows and lips, he wants to kiss the worry away but she moves from his arms.

"Henry".

 

There is a noble girl at Hever Castle that passes away peacefully in the end of a harsh winter. No obvious reason for her illness is found but God works in mysterious ways. Little Prince Harry lives on.

 

"I am never going to find you, am I?" He is on the verge of tears. Its not a question or even a statement but something more or less present between them. Always, like the spring filled air and sunlight (it is never dark in these dreams).

_In a very real London flat..._

There is something entirely familiar about holding her close to his chest, stroking her hair and feeling the softness of it. They are snuggling fully clothed and for all of his sexual frustration he could't more be happy in that moment.

"I saw you in one of my dreams." At her baffled and a bit flushed look he adds "not that kind!" Although who could fault him if she were a major part of his fantasies? But that was not all Henry dreamed about, and his mother taught him to take night visions seriously because they always told you something.

"We were in some kind of garden, there was sun. I don't remember what we were talking about... but you called me 'Majesty'." Her look is the definition of unimpressed.

"You don't need any more reasons to grow your ego."

"...and I called you 'my love'".

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is parallel universes. In one Henry dies instead of his brother in April of 1502. In another Anne dies in February of 1511 but Prince Harry lives. So they don't exist in each others world but somehow meet in their dreams. As doomed as it gets.


	3. and pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he was an idiot who frequently forgot about his other half, much less cared about her...

But there were moments when forgetting was not an option.

Henry was about ten when he started feeling aches that were not his own. After some deliberation his healers decided it was his  _intended_.

He hated it right away.

His future started to look bright after years of being overlooked, forgotten... as a middle son he proved his father's virility alright but when the heir apparent was well and on the way to marriage himself a second son became a burden. He knew his wit was quicker and mind sharper than his brother's, physically he never suffered any aliment... and when God had finally shown that he - Henry - should be the next king he got an 'intended' he never wanted.

Oh he knew that an intended was a blessing for his soul and showed that he was in God's plans... but he was quite content when his life was his own. (Grandmother always said that he was a selfish boy.)

You never know how many small pains there are in your life until you start sharing it with someone else. Toothaches with upset stomach changed into feeling of scrapped hands and knees. Occasional stubbed thumb or prickled finger, a shoe that does't feel quite right, a cramp in your neck but at the same time not yours did't let him forget about a faceless person somewhere out there. But he got used to it or so he thought until he woke up in the middle of one night with a feeling of a dull ax cutting insides of his lower belly. After alerting half of his healers he wasn't very pleased to hear what he did.

"I believe Your Majesty is describing the pain of woman's monthly courses."

Apparently his half was female and had just reached childbearing age. Well, it did not really matter as he was married and Catherine was once again with a child (he hoped it would live this time). But having to feel  _that_  for the next twenty or thirty years did't seem very pleasant.

"...Wait, have you said monthly?"

_H AB R_

"Argh!" Anne clutched her head as a terrible pain shot through her cheek and temple. She fell to her knees, making women around her murmur in worried french.

She knew that having an intended was a blessing, sharing her burdens with a man of God's choosing whoever he happened to be confirmed His plan for her. And knowing that some other being shared all her hardships was reassuring.

But. It seemed that the man for it only could be a man, took it as his life goal to take as many bumps and hits as he could find.

Her muscles ached often as if after a great strain, once in a while there was unpleasant pricking followed by faint weakness and of course the sense of actual physical blows, sword fighting maybe.

Anne did't remember but in her girlhood there was an occurrence when her parents had been afraid for her life. She was crying and could't move, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the illness her intended was suffering. The healers could do nothing - apparently she, herself was perfectly alright. (But  _he_  was not. At least if her intended died, her pains would stop.)

He didn't as was apparent by her continued plight.

To her father's great displeasure when she returned to England everything stayed the same. As if he expected that a man that knew nothing of her would suddenly change his lifelong habits and start spending time indoors reading and relaxing so it would stop troubling her - really it was ridiculous. Her mother just smiled in understanding.

Her parents were not beintended but apparently the one to her mother was an active and often injured man, so she could share her daughter's misery.

As for Mary... she hadn't seen her sister for so long - apparently she became a mistress to yet another king. Rare if dubious achievement and she felt sorry for her. The royal types seemed to notice her and want to have her but the reputation Francis gave her back over the Chanel was nothing pleasant and she gained little more than a trail of rumors out of their affair.

Anne knew she would spend little time at court before going to Ireland to marry her cousin. On one hand she knew that country scenery would be dull and not much in matters of entertainment or mental stimulation, on the other... she would have little chance to displease father or get herself in an unpleasant situation with other nobles (she had enough of those with the French).

_H AB R_

He felt a strange kind of ache - a faint pain of the organ he did't quite have and unexplainable soreness. So it would seem his intended got married or given herself to a man. Whoever she was she'd better not have disgraced herself by surrendering to a man who was not her husband. And maybe it was not very kind of him but he hoped that children were a long way off - he was not looking forward to the pains of childbed.

_H AB R_

She had not been not planning to find herself in the king's- Henry's heart (just a few days ago he gave her permission almost begged her to call him by his christian name) yet here she was, refusing his gifts and keeping his letters, knowing them and his beautiful handwriting by heart. She had not been going to fall for him. God be her witness she saw enough of Claude suffering because of her affection towards her husband. From what she heard Henry was a little bit more steadfast in his love - his affairs were either  _les coups d'un soir_  or lasted for years yet the result was the same - his women were left disgraced and what's worse everyone knew when and with whom they did it. There was no way to escape king's love unscathed and no way to refuse him.

Yet there she was...

_H AB R_

When the Sweat started he was afraid. For his friends, children, even Katherine but most of all his sweetheart. And his fears proved true. He sent her to Hever but it was little consolation for she did fall ill.

As the days progressed everyone seemed to succumb to pain - if they did not have the sweat their intended did. Henry was terrified when he got stomach pains - and relieved when the palm he pressed to his cheek was dry. And while half of his people stopped moaning for there was no one to share the pain with anymore, others felt faint aches of survived and thanked God. He himself found relief two days before news of Anne's miracle survival reached him.

_H AB R_

They were dining privately, Katherine was still with Mary and he could spend all the time he wanted with his sweetheart without taking care of appearances. He was bothered by a headache but didn't want to waste away precious hours that could be spent in Anne's company. She was smiling at him her eyes shining, pretty blush on her pale cheeks all of it just for him. Because of him. Sometimes he could hardly believe that it was true... He got so caught up looking at his darling that he grazed his palm with a knife like a lovesick boy. It stung unpleasantly as some fruit juice got on the scratch but he certainly had worse and showed nothing of it. He looked up from his 'wound' only to see Anne frowning at her hand as she stroked it and winced. They both froze when she lifted her gaze to him.

He brought her hand to himself and slightly pinched tender skin of her wrist. There instantly was a prickle in his own arm. Then he pressed into his own palm right into torn skin... the hand he was holding trembled.

Anne was looking at him with awe, shock, and maybe a little bit of fear. It was a lot to understand and accept.

All this time when she felt unreasonable pain it was not some unnamed man's, it was Henry's! She was the keeper of his weaknesses - if only he would let her be.

She stood up slowly and came close to him, seeing her own reflection in his magnificent eyes. 'You have a headache' she put her hand on his temple tenderly 'right here. Since morning'. Her cool fingers were a relief on his pulsing vein. He squeezed her hand, than drew her to his lap. Warm heaviness spread through his chest, his eyes were teary so he closed them. Henry felt her lower her head to his shoulder, their hands still intertwined - his red blood staining both of them.

A king's intended was a dangerous thing for they knew of weakness. Now Anne knew of his. But he trusted her with his heart and would now trust with body.

_H AB R_

'You are no virgin!' There was hurt and accusation in his voice (but neither was he and she was  _not_  making a spectacle about it.)

'I never said I was.'

'...What?' For a second he was too stupefied to answer then his expression become one of rage. 'You dare to misguide me!'

The idea that his intended was right here and he chose her for himself cemented his belief that she was the one - because she was. Eve to his Adam, created by His will to share his hardships. An angel to lead him away from the darkness he found himself in. He was elated until the unwelcome memory of his other half supposedly marrying surfaced.

'You whored yourself out and then had the boldness to deny me when so many others were and would be happy to find themselves in your place!' That statement found him in the face of a furious Anne.

'I - never 'whored myself out' as you put it. I was to be married! The wedding was in less than a month, half of my dowry had been paid for,' her smile showed off her sharp teeth and he got a chill from her gaze, knowing that whatever she would say he wouldn't like it, 'and I  _loved_  him. We were to be man and wife. And I would've been his wife, gladly so. Lived happily and by now I would've made him a father several times over. ' Oh it stung. To think that she longed to be another's wife while he... but she was not finished. ' Except less than a week later there was found a mistake in the biding contract, making it invalid. A mistake that Wolsey helped to find. By whose order I wonder?'

Maybe screaming in king's face was not the best of her ideas. Being cruel - she knew the implications of her being married to another and bearing his children would hurt Henry's pride and sense of possessiveness immensely. But she could no longer stand there listening to him degrade her. She curtsied and left him standing alone in anger and confusion.

He remembered. She indeed was to be married - and sometimes he had nothing against that for his mistresses but in that case he knew that new husband would take her away to his dready castle and most certainly make a fuss if Henry made newlyweds stay at court for the purpose of bedding the wife. And he wanted her too badly to just find a new object of affection.

_H AB R_

Her head ached so badly she almost wanted to weep. More so because it was  _his_  pain and now that she knew it was his and could offer no consolation... her heart was tearing while beating wildly. She knew she shouldn't... God knew in what mood Henry was after tending to his country's needs but he hadn't barred her from his rooms so she went past his personal servants to his private chambers. There he was sitting in a chair by dark fireplace, eyes clothed his face in his hands. He llooked up sharply when she was announced.

When she was going there she decided that if he rejected her, saying he never wished to see her again she would return to Hever. There she would wait for her father to marry her off to somebody he deemed suitable, she told no one about their discovery so it would not matter. Although after falling out with Henry she was damaged goods and there was no king of England wishing to arrange her marriage. Maybe she should've listened to her own arguments better four years ago. But after she curtsied and made a tentative step to him Henry's eyes did't glow up in rage, he rather looked at her... tenderly?

She fell to her knees before him and in a second they were holding each other, eyes glistening with tears.

_H AB R_

Thomas Boleyn winced at the sounds that came from Queen's private chambers. Childbirth was an unpleasant thing as he was reminded by new and new cries his daughter made. He himself escaped the fate of sharing that experience with his intended - from what he thought she must have died too young to marry and have children. The same could't be said for the King. According to the servant he paid, Henry doubled over during the (hunt miraculously not falling from his horse), the party instantly returned to the palace. If anyone didn't know about royal couple being beintended they would now, seeing pale and sweaty vision of the king, grinding his teeth in pain and refusing to scream. He hastly retired to his chambers baring everyone but his page from the rooms.

That was the reason many a monarch avoided marrying their intended - when one was ill or injured or giving birth - indisposed were both and there was simply no one to rule if God forbid such circumstances proved to be lengthy.

The pains stopped as abruptly as they started - he did't drink a sleeping tonic though he was tempted to - and he instead of allowing himself a moment to catch his breath jumped out of bed and rushed to Anne's rooms. By the faces around him he could understand nothing - was it a dead child? Were his hopes for naught?

When he looked at her - their little Elizabeth with a tuft of light hair and his beloved dark eyes he could not find it in himself to be disappointed, after feeling what it took to get her in the world. And he would let no one be! He ordered canons to be fired and free wine to be given for a bonny princess of England. After that Henry got in bed with his wife and daughter, taking precious bundle from Anne.

'Thank you sweetheart. She is perfect'.

_H AB R_

'Henry please don't go. My love, if something were to happen...' it was treason to say so but as his wife put her arms around her belly protectively he understood. If he was harmed so would she and their child. She didn't want to attend for fear of excitement, much less seeing and feeling him being injured. Even if it was just a lance grazing his arm he was a man and did't fear the pain but Anne could be startled bad enough for it to damage their babe. Oh, he wanted to take part in the joust, to feel younger and stronger than he was now but the thought of something happening terrified him.

He remembered that day a year ago when there was suddenly a pain that came too early. Instantly he knew something was wrong and was proved right when he saw pale faces of her ladies and bloodied sheets carried away. He didn't want a repeat, certainly nor wished to be the fault of it. So he smiled tenderly and put his hand on top of hers to feel their child quicken as if in response.

'I'll stay with you sweetheart.'

_Once upon a plane to Heathrow..._

Some people felt pain during descending - it had something to do with blood pressure suddenly changing. She didn't know how it felt but Henry apparently did. He lowered his head dramatically and held his forehead where a small scar was located. Well, it  _was_  from an incident that had given him a concussion - by his own words, and maybe it had shaken the delicate balance between his skull and brain. But he did not have to be an absolute baby about it.

She happily ignored him the whole flight (served him right after what he said to her) but now Anne could't stand another second of looking at his pitiful face. So she put an arm around his shoulders, well that small part of them she could reach, and tugged him to lean into her. When he had his legendary headaches he always said her hugs helped. For all of his seeming suffering he happily enough put his head on her shoulder and clothed his eyes with a content sight.

If he did't look so adorable (as no self-respecting thirty year old man should) and his hair did't faintly smell of strawberries she swore to herself she would've pinched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost 3k words - wow if I am not proud of myself. Also pleased to see some reaction. ^_^
> 
> Now, this one is sharing-pain-soulmates AU. I wanted something other than 'soulmate' for the term itself though, so it is 'intended' (by God). Also I invented the 'beintended' word instead of having to write 'they are intended to each other'.
> 
> About the argument - betrothal I described is purely fictional so the man is unnamed. The inspiration is historical situation with Henry Percy but that betrothal was secret and did not meet approval of Percy's father and Wolsey, as Percy was already engaged to Mary Talbot. So king Henry had nothing to do with it.
> 
> Lastly, maybe after experiencing all kinds of woman's pains Henry would consider safety of his wife and child and spare himself that one hit in the head after which everything went downhill. After that - there is quite a few good works about 'what if Anne didn't miscarry'.
> 
> Feel free to leave any scenarios/AUs you'd like to see in a review!


End file.
